by Fel Fern
Wounded Hearts 4
Dusty
Dusty is an ex-soldier and dominant leopard shifter who lost his hearing during the war. He’s also the last of his former unit who remains unmated. To get away from humans because his inner leopard is close to turning feral, he works as an assistant park ranger. A distress call brings him to a cliff in the park where he needs to convince a potential suicide not to jump. The last thing Dusty expects to find is his mate.
Trace Michaels is a human artist who suffered an attack three months ago. He’s saved from ending his life by a persistent and gorgeous leopard shifter. With reluctance, he lets Dusty convince him to live again. The last thing he expects is for Dusty to stick around. Trace isn’t ready to risk his heart again, but this persistent leopard might just be the one man he’s been waiting for his entire life.
Genre: Alternative (M/M, Gay), Contemporary, Paranormal, Shape-shifter
Length: 23,511 words
DUSTY
Wounded Hearts 4
Fel Fern

Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
DUSTY
Copyright © 2017 by Fel Fern
ISBN: 978-1-64010-456-3
First Publication: July 2017
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2017 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
DEDICATION
To my readers, I hope you enjoy Dusty and Trace's story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Felicia Fern works as a graphic designer during the day, and loves penning M/M paranormal erotic romance at night.
A sadist who loves watching her heroes break their backs trying to earn their happy endings, Fel likes throwing in the occasional dash of the unknown to the usual romantic concoction.
For all titles by Fel Fern, please visit
www.bookstrand.com/fel-fern
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
About the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Landmarks
Cover
DUSTY
Wounded Hearts 4
FEL FERN
Copyright © 2017
Chapter One
“So, I was at this bookstore to buy some coffee-table books, you know, for interior design aesthetics, when this eccentric local celebrity walked in, some local artist who avoids the press like a plague—” Dusty’s date went on, mouth continually moving, forming sounds.
Well, Dusty might be deaf, but he, for once, thought being able to read lips was a curse.
It seemed Mick, or was it Mitch, couldn’t stop talking. Dusty, the last single member of his little ex-army buddies, knew he shouldn’t be picky. Not a lot of single shifters wanted to go out on a date with a flawed shifter, much less an ex-soldier still suffering from PTSD. The PTSD information he didn’t put on his dating profile on MatchPaws, the dating app he signed up for weeks ago after finding out Grover had landed a mate.
If a blind jaguar shifter could find his mate, so could a deaf leopard. That motivation worked for a couple of days before depression found its way back to him.
“Are you listening to me?” Mick or Mitch finally asked, glancing suspiciously at Dusty’s empty plate to his still uneaten salad.
“Sorry, could you repeat that? If you forgot, I can’t hear all that well,” Dusty joked, although it wasn’t funny.
Losing his hearing and his spot as a member of one of the military’s paranormal special ops units had been a massive blow. The same went for the other members in the unit he considered his brothers. Most of them were raised in the foster system and had no family or pack to support them, but they had each other and were valued for their skills.
Dusty had been the youngest. He’d had plenty to prove, but his brothers had turned his ego into discipline. War wore down a person’s soul though, especially if one’s role involved doing the dirty deeds no one else could.
They were all supposed to go back home with their medals. Instead, a bomb with silver shrapnel had hit their base. He and the other five members of his unit lost something vital that day. Wayne had lost his life, Abram an arm, Mike a leg, and Grover his eyes. Worse, that loss rendered their inner animals savage, close to feral.
Last year, Dusty had nearly lost himself to his leopard, and nearly dragged Abram into losing his lion, too. Dusty had been ashamed of his loss of control, had spent the last few months going to a therapist who specialized in seeing army vets, but something was still missing. His leopard didn’t feel completely sane yet. Dusty chalked it off to a lack of a mate.
“Do you use that excuse often to ignore your dates?” Mick—he settled on—demanded. “Come on. Wake up. I only agreed to go on a date with you because you’re hot looking, but I’m not going to mate a flawed shifter.”
A growl tickled out of Dusty, the sound threatening enough that Mick shrunk in his seat, eyes wide. Dusty smiled, showing teeth. He knew his disability made him undesirable mate material in the shifter population, knew Mick and others like Mick went out with him for one thing only—sex.
Even before the army, Dusty never had a problem with flirting. Guys fell for his charm and looks, but that was a long time ago. He was twenty-six, still young, yet he felt ancient. His brothers had had a hard time adapting to civilian life, so had he. He still did, even after a year. Most nights, he still woke up screaming, and the faces of the dead haunted him still.
It was only after Abram, Mike, and Grover found their mates that he started thinking that maybe there was still someone out there for him, too, someone who could calm his fierce leopard and fill the missing pieces the war had taken away.
Combat in hostile territory took plenty out of a man, and Dusty knew it had been necessary to kill certain parts of himself to survive, to be his best, but he was no longer on hostile ground.
“Trust me, Mick. I know,” he said for his parting remark.
Mick rose from his chair, making sure everyone in the restaurant heard the scrape of wood against the floor. “Go fuck yourself, Dusty. My name’s Mitch, by the way, asshole.”
Mitch stomped out of there in fury. Ignoring the other diners’ looks, he sighed and called the waiter for his bill. Dusty stared at the numbers on the bill and wondered why he kept doing this to himself. He didn’t make much.
He lived on military pen
sion and worked a number of odd jobs, but he often found himself being fired from food delivery jobs and frontline staff at fast food restaurants. According to his employers, he scared most customers off and had an unpredictable temper, but only because his leopard didn’t like being caged in.
Currently, Dusty worked as an assistant park ranger while pursuing a college degree. All that summed up was the fact Dusty couldn’t afford to go on expensive restaurant dates. Paying the bill, he exited the restaurant, mood foul. He thought he’d be getting some action tonight, except inviting a guy like Mitch back to his den seemed sacrilege.
It seemed going out with random strangers only eager for a hookup, no longer satiated his leopard. Since it was a cold night out, he walked back. He couldn’t believe he wanted to get the damn weekend over with so he could go back to his job. Dusty stuck his hands into his jean pockets and headed back home, still dejected as ever.
He could call up one of his brothers, but they were probably busy with their mates. Dusty didn’t want to disturb them, and besides, Mike kept setting him up on blind dates and Grover kept pushing him to get a pet to attract a mate. Grover had gotten a guide dog for that purpose alone. Not that Pancake, Grove’s Golden Retriever, was a huge help to the blind jaguar shifter, but Pancake did lead Grover to his mate, Eric.
Dusty didn’t think he would get so lucky. He fished out his phone and saw Mitch had left him a one out of five-star rating. Not surprised, Dusty shut the app and after some debate, uninstalled it. This wasn’t working, so Dusty had to find some other way to find his one true mate.
* * * *
Mike tapped his shoulder during their usual morning jog. “So, how did your date last night go?”
After nearly turning into a rogue leopard a year ago, his brothers seemed to make it a point to keep tabs on him. Once he’d started showing he could control his animal better, they became less watchful, but he still enjoyed jogging sessions with Mike.
“Don’t ask,” he muttered.
“That bad?” Mike signed, knowing Dusty had to focus more on reading lips instead of the path ahead of him if he didn’t.
Dusty grimaced.
“How about Bowen’s friend?” Mike asked.
Bowen was Mike’s submissive lynx shifter mate. Dusty liked Bowen, but sometimes the lynx was really passionate about setting him up with someone.
“Which one? The hairdresser?” He signed back.
Mike sighed. “No, this other guy, Jon. Very wholesome, according to Bowen, and works at the shifter shelter.”
“I think I want a break from dating.”
Mike nodded, respecting his decision. “Well, let me know.”
“You’re not going to tell me to hurry up before all the good ones like Bowen are gone?” he asked, bemused.
“Nope. Grove says it’s not good to be pushy, that you’ll find your special someone sooner or later.”
“Grove is wise.”
Mike chuckled. The rest of the run, they finished in mutual silence. They ran a loop around the park several more times before parting ways. Dusty went back to his apartment for a quick shower before putting on his park ranger uniform.
The place was a rental, temporary until the ranger station deep in the woods was built. Then Dusty could move in there with his partner, a human and ex-cop named Bill. Bill and he worked well together. Bill didn’t ask a lot of questions, and they had rotating shifts, which suited Mike.
He took his bike to the outskirts of town and parked his bike outside the temporary ranger office before moving onto his rounds. Shifters were valued in the Forest Service because they were naturally suited to work in the outdoors. The woods calmed his leopard, too, which worked in his favor.
Bill waved at him from his desk as Dusty came in.
“Hey, Dusty, you want to take up this case? Odd call came from a hiker, asking how long a ranger’s response time was to accidents and how often they patrolled a certain area,” Bill told him.
Dusty frowned. “Injured?”
“Never said anything, put down the phone when I asked for more information.”
“Strange call, sure. I’ll check it out.” Dusty asked more questions first. He was an excellent tracker and usually reached hikers in need of help before other rangers on duty, but he needed more information. “Any idea where this hiker is?”
“Nope, but I heard running water in the background. Might be near the river.”
“Thanks.”
Dusty walked out of the cabin just as he got in, his mind racing with possibilities. This was what he loved about his work, the ability to focus on other problems for a change.
The general population knew what a ranger’s tasks involved, but what they didn’t know was the hardest part of their jobs—not fighting off grizzlies or rescuing stranded hikers during a storm or natural disaster, but suicide cases.
He found the quickest trail to the Cherry Fall River, the lone body of water running through the entire area. Dusty arrived there in half the time a human would using his supernatural speed.
He scented his surroundings for hikers. Few tourists ventured to this particular area because it cut between national park land and the area of the woods reserved for shifters and other paranormals living in town. Most paranormals were decent enough, but some got a kick out of scaring humans who didn’t know much about their culture. But there were also a few who genuinely thought humans could make good snacks.
Like Grover, since losing one of his five senses, Dusty’s other senses, particularly his sense of smell, was amplified. He smelled earth, leaves, the water, and there it was—a distinctive scent that didn’t belong to the rest. Not a paranormal…a human then?
He followed the trail uphill to the small cliff overlooking the river and the town. This could have been a popular spot for lovers, save the fact there were warning signs telling hikers that shifters and other supernaturals roamed beyond the river and didn’t appreciate tourists taking pictures or making a mess.
Dusty caught sight of the lean figure up ahead, dressed wrong for hiking. For one, the guy was wearing dark colors, and he didn’t seem to have the appropriate gear either. Dusty froze, although the human couldn’t possibly have heard his footsteps. The human leaned precariously close to the cliff’s edge. He recalled the odd questions about how long it took for a ranger to respond and how often one patrolled an area.
Was his gut instinct right and this human contemplated suicide?
Dusty could use his supernatural speed and strength to drag the human back. That scent was bothering him though, the closer he got to the man. It hit him like a ton of bricks, that scent, a little minty mixed in with vanilla and faint tobacco. Smells Dusty didn’t know could be tantalizing. His leopard woke inside of him with interest, studying their prey with disturbing intensity.
Some prey animals could sense when a predator was close. This human turned. Blazing sky-blue eyes met his under a mop of messy brown hair. There was intelligence in those eyes, as well as wariness.
Dusty halted in his footsteps. Hunger and need hit him like a freight truck. His inner animal screamed one frightening word that rattled him, that made Dusty lose his precious control for a few damning seconds.
Mate!
Then a rumbling growl vibrated from his chest full of possessive want.
Chapter Two
Trace Michaels turned, sensing something or someone was watching him. Gods, but he hadn’t even seen the big man approach, and the closer the stranger came, the faster his heart beat. For such a big, terrifying guy, this stranger moved with undeniable feline grace. A shifter? Trace would have considered the stranger attractive, too, but those startling cat green and yellow eyes were unblinking, whispering secrets and hidden pain.
Trace wondered if today had been the day he finally took his own life, but this seemed like as good a sign as any that the universe didn’t want him to leave yet. He swallowed and finally saw the park ranger uniform. He relaxed a little but he wasn’t completely at ease.
He scoffed. “Son? Ranger, we’re only a few years apart.”
It seemed unwise to be trading words with a shifter. Trace didn’t know a lot of paranormals, even though he’d lived in Cherry Hill most of his life.
Hell, small wonder because Trace didn’t exactly have any friends either, human or paranormal. After Trace was fired from the accounting firm he worked at for five years, ever since graduating from college, he’d decided to try his hand at his real passion—painting.
Little did he know, that talent would be the curse of him. Some would call his ability to bring out his inner pain and reflect it in his canvasses as a gift, but it wasn’t, not really. Trace had liked it at first.
It felt like he lived in some kind of dream world, doing what he loved without caring about the real world beyond the walls of his apartment. The real world didn’t do him any favors anyway except, sometimes, he got sucked into the worlds he created on canvas, and he wasn’t sure how to claw his way back to reality.
Then one of his fans kept insisting on meeting him, feeding him continuous lies. Morgan said he loved Trace, his works, told Trace he understood about his paintings the way no one could. He drank up those lies, thirsty for love and attention.
Trace always knew he was gay since high school, but kept his secret in the closet. Dating terrified him and when Morgan appeared, he thought he’d been thrust into a romance story of his own, only to realize Morgan didn’t love him, had only been obsessed about his idealized version of Trace.
